After Newcastle
by InsertImaginativeNameHere
Summary: What happens when Chas finds out about Newcastle. Very happy go lucky. Nothing depressing whatsoever. In five parts, COMPLETED
1. Aftermath

Say what you liked about the magical community, but they could _talk_. Only a few days had passed and already everyone knew.

'Did you hear what happened?'

'Have you heard about what that idiot Constantine did?'

'I always knew that guy would fuck up one day.'

Newcastle. Everyone knew.

Except for Chas Chandler, who had been spending the last few weeks with his family, attempting to atone of his many absences. It wasn't until he went to a bar frequented by the more unusual types on a whim and came face to face with the wreck of Richie Simpson. When he'd spotted Richie, sat alone at a table far away from everyone else, alarm bells had started going off. Chas knew there had been a trip planned, had declined the invitation on account of it being so short notice and having promised to stay with Renée and Geraldine for at least a little while longer. Judging by the state Richie was in, and the looks he was getting from everyone else, something had gone wrong.

The same people seemed be watching Chas with an air of apprehension, avoiding him almost. They knew something he didn't.

Something had gone wrong.

Chas tried not to worry, but he had only one thought on his mind – John.

Where the hell was he?

Above the bar there was a list of banned patrons, not that that would ever have stopped John, whose instinct for self-preservation could be lacking. Sure enough, his name was there, 'John Constantine', freshly written. He hadn't been in the country for a long while. So whatever it was for this time had to be...

Something to do with the Newcastle trip.

Chas consoled himself with the knowledge that if the exorcist was banned, he was still alive. It was a small comfort really, it didn't help him figure out what had happened, why nobody would look at him. For that, he needed to talk to Richie.

Sitting down opposite the other man, Chas placed his drink on the table. Richie jumped, breathing quickly as if he had been reminded of something terrible. Even after he realised it was only Chas, maybe because it was Chas, he was still twitching violently.

"I – I suppose you've heard." Richie trailed off.

"No," Chas said, calmly. "As a matter of fact, I haven't."

They were getting looks, some wary, some laden with barely-concealed curiosity that made Richie squirm uncomfortably. Poor guy. Chas offered him a ride home and he gratefully accepted, Sighing, Chas texted, Renée explaining that a situation had come up and he'd be home soon. He tactfully avoided mentioning John's involvement, knowing it would only make her angry.

_Might have to make a trip to England soon. _He thought, a little annoyed. _Dammit John you stupid bastard, what have you done now?_

For the first half of the journey, Richie was silent, staring out at the darkness as the world went by. If he wanted to talk, he'd talk. This was an issue Chas knew how to deal with, partly because of his experience as a parent, but mostly because, well, because of the aforementioned 'stupid bastard'. You didn't press the issue. You kept driving. You stayed quiet and let them reach out to you. It was a trick that worked much better when Geraldine had got into arguments with her friends, honestly, she was considerably more emotionally mature than John was. But that wasn't hard. Pretty much everyone was more emotionally mature than John Constantine. It would be easier to list the few people that _weren't_, than running through everyone else who had learnt basic life skills.

"Do you remember Astra?" Richie managed eventually. Chas nodded. He was vaguely aware of Astra, sweet little girl a similar age to Geraldine, with beautiful curly hair. "She – her father – she was possessed." Silence. What could you say to that? Not much, except when one of your closest friends was an exorcist.

"Didn't John do anything?"

Richie laughed bitterly. "Of course he did. John Constantine always has an answer for everything. He thought he could get a stronger demon to take the other one back to Hell. But it didn't. We saw Astra torn apart Chas, dragged to Hell before our eyes." the smaller man shuddered. "John said, he _said _he knew what he was doing."

"He usually does." said Chas tonelessly, still in shock from the revelation.

"Tell that to Astra." Richie spat. "That son-of-a-bitch damned her to Hell. I can't sleep anymore without seeing her face, those final moments on replay over and over and over again. Gary was even more of a mess than usual. Anne-Marie wouldn't stop crying."

Cautiously, Chas decided to ask the question that was weighing on his mind. "How was John?"

Richie shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care. He could go and die and I'd be more than content. In fact, I'd be celebrating. He's not worth your time, Chas. He's poison."

_Yes, well, if he damned a girl to Hell that means he's damned too. _Chas swore under his breath – stupid bastard, STUPID BASTARD – and spent the rest of the journey in characteristic silence. After dropping his friend off he pulled out his phone and started searching for the first flight to England he could find.

He needed to see John.

_He hadn't moved in days, except to light a cigarette or pour himself a drink. _

_Astra was dead. _

_It was his fault._

_He poured himself another drink, spilling more than half of the bottle. If he dropped his cig, everything would go up in flames. He contemplated it, for how long, he wasn't sure. But he didn't. He lit himself another smoke from the stub of the previous one and sank back into bed._

_He kept seeing that moment, her falling away into the grasp of Nergal. He kept seeing everyone's faces afterwards – Gary's terror, Richie's abject betrayal, Anne-Marie's tear-stained look of heartbreak. _

_And Astra falling into Hell, damning him forever. No less than he deserved. _

_Stupid bastard._


	2. The Search

Two days into his search Chas could not have been more frustrated if John had jumped out from behind him and shouted 'boo', trademark grin on his face. What Chas wouldn't have given to see that grin. He would have known, then, that everything would be okay despite everything. Instead, John had vanished from the face of the Earth itself. No-one knew where he was, no-one cared. Old friends shrugged and awkwardly changed the topic.

'John Constantine? No idea. How's your little girl?'

'How should I know where he is? Fancy a game of pool?'

'Who?' - this from someone John had definitely slept with at least twice, though actually, many of John's exes, both male and female, went through similar denial. John Constantine? Nah, never heard of him. Who?

It was Geraldine's words that had really broken Chas' heart, when he'd called home to explain where he was this time.

"Is Uncle John in trouble again?"

_Yes, he's got himself damned to Hell and I can't find him to help. _

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Chas had lied. "I just need to check." Check that he was coping. He had beat himself up over lesser mistakes, and this was hardly minor. The tiniest error, the smallest slip up, they had always been enough to convince John he was a failure. And this was so much worse. Richie had been an empty ruin of a man, and he'd always been the most sensible one. If Newcastle had got to him that badly, how would it have affected someone like the screwed up demonologist? He was a mess anyway. He didn't need more of this shit. He never did, but every time, when given the chance, he'd do something, as if compelled to fuck his own life up. Just when it seemed they were in the all clear, that was when things like this decided to happen, proving that nothing ever changed when it came to John Constantine.

Geraldine had said goodbye then, sounding disappointed her father was absent again, and Chas had resumed his search, fruitlessly, until someone had whispered that they knew where Constantine was living, had given Chas an address. Of course, John didn't have a phone. There was no way of contacting him unless he wanted to be contacted. The man was a little shit like that.

A little shit who was damned to-

_Stop reminding yourself. _Chas thought, as he knocked on the door, only to be answered by silence. Frightening, worrying, agonising silence. It would hardly have been the first time that, upon entering a similar silence, Chas had found his friend in all kinds of awful situations. But this was more ominous, knowing things could not have been much worse right now...every second the silence lasted, the further Chas' heart sank.

"John?" he hammered on the door again, more urgently. "John!" Still the silence. Chas gritted his teeth. "Dammit John." he muttered, and then moved to kick the door down.

"_John!"_

_He woke suddenly, unaware he had even been asleep. He could hardly tell the difference between waking and sleeping anymore. It was all a nightmare, one long bloody nightmare he couldn't escape from._

_It had always been a nightmare. It had taken Newcastle to remind him what he had always known – life was a nightmare, and the only way out was-_

_There was a pounding on the front door, which pulled him out of his misery sharply. Shit. Chas was here. He couldn't let Chas see him like this, didn't deserve the inevitable pity. Dragging himself up, he stumbled and fell to the floor, surrounded by bottles and tangled in sheets._

_At some point he had run out of booze, but he wasn't sure when. Searching for a cigarette, he found nothing. His lip curled disdainfully as he came face to face with himself in the mirror. Shirtless, wearing only a pair of boxers, he looked a mess. Dark rings under his eyes, visible ribs...how long had he been lying there for? When had he last eaten, or slept properly? How much time had passed since Newcastle? Did it really matter? Did any of it matter? Newcastle had happened. It wasn't a place any more. Newcastle was an event, a cataclysm, and it had left a scar on his soul, a blemish that would never heal._

_Astra was dead._

_It was his fault._

_Everything was his fault, in the end. He twisted and ruined everything, and he deserved whatever was waiting for him down there in Hell. _The sooner the better _he thought, and he smiled darkly._

_Another crash, louder this time. Chas had broken in. Chas would find the bedroom soon, the scattered bottles, the ash, the empty shell of John Constantine...no. _

_That couldn't happen._

_Pulling himself into the wardrobe, he murmured a glamour spell. Chas would not find him. Never again._

"_John?" he heard his friend calling him. _

_Closing his eyes, he waited for the nightmare to end._


	3. Ruins

Staring around the ruined apartment, Chas couldn't help but feel this appalling guilt he had not got there sooner. Whatever John had been doing since Newcastle, it was as bad as could be expected and more besides. The sofa had been overturned, there was the bitter stink of vomit coming from the bathroom and empty bottles littered the floor. Cigarette ash had been trodden into the carpet.

Scattered around the upturned furniture were photographs. Chas picked one of himself and John out, a memory of better times, and as he looked at it he realised with cold horror that the exorcist's eyes had been poked out. Dropping it as though it had burned him, he found another, John standing next to a woman Chas vaguely knew as his sister, Cheryl. Again, Constantine's eyes had been stabbed out. In every photograph, the same thing. Everyone else had been spared this fate, except John, whose still smiled hollowly from the images. He had gone through, methodically, desperately, _pathologically, _stabbing his own eyes out. Chas could imagine him doing it, cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth absently, glass of whatever beverage he had decided to destroy himself with this time. It was funny, in a dark kind of way, because under any other circumstances it was doubtful whether John's attention span would stretch that far.

Apprehensively, Chas moved past the stench from the bathroom, towards the only door still closed, calling his friend's name again. _Please, John. Please. _Part of him, just a little bit, half-expected the idiot, the stupid, stupid bastard would emerge, glint in his eye, mocking grin on his face, laughing at Chas for even being worried. And Chas would have been so relieved he wouldn't have even lectured his friend about his behaviour, about the photographs, about Newcastle itself. None of it would have mattered. There would be a time for anger later, a time to be absolutely furious with the man, but for now, Chas was just praying for an answer. Praying for John Constantine's soul.

What remained of it, anyway.

He opened the door cautiously, and the smell hit him right away. Smoke and alcohol and stale human sweat, familiar scents at least, if not pleasant ones. This was it. This was what you ended up with if you left Constantine to his own devices for any considerable length of time. More empty bottles, more stubs of cigarettes on the bedside table, empty packets strewn all over the floor. There was a spill Chas didn't notice until he had already stood in it, disgust vying with concern for brief moments. John was very, very lucky he hadn't sent himself up in flames.

The bed itself was empty.

John was gone.

_He could hear Chas still. The big man hadn't given up and he probably never would. Chas was like that; he wouldn't give up until he had overturned every stone in search of something – someone – long since lost. _

_Pressing himself back into the cupboard, he hoped more than anything he had got the spell right. He was certain he had. Almost certain. Fairly confident. Chas could _not _find him. He knew that much. Everything else was confusing, complicated, probably because his head had started throbbing with the mother of all hangovers and he was struggling to think through the fog in his mind, a fog that kept chanting 'Newcastle, Newcastle, Newcastle'._

_Newcastle._

_Astra._

You deserve this, you stupid bastard. _He thought. _You deserve everything you get for what you did back there in Geordie-land. You-

_He cut off. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to punish himself with that he hadn't already used. Outside, he heard Chas open the curtains. Light crept in through the cracks in the wardrobe. He blinked rapidly, unused to even the dimmest lights after however long it had been trapped in the darkness. Then, the doors of the wardrobe opened, one long shadow blotting out the sun. Thank God for Chas' height, not that God was listening. It did have some advantages after all._

_The moment of truth. Would the glamour spell hold in the face of close inspection? He looked up at his friend's blank face and saw the fear etched deep into it, and he knew that despite his own inebriation, it had worked. It had bloody worked! Chas was looking right at him but he didn't see, couldn't see the shadow of his own friend staring back with equally empty eyes. Relief flooded him, then pain, knowing he could break the spell at any point, wipe that tortured look from Chas' face. Free him from his self-imposed mission._

_He couldn't take it. Looking away, he tried to keep it together for a few moments longer, just a little more. As soon as Chas was satisfied there was no one there, closing the doors and leaving him in darkness again, he let out a sigh of relief choked by muffled sobs. This couldn't go on, really it couldn't. Or he would be in Hell within what, a week, a month, and he wasn't ready for that, not yet, no matter how much he knew it was what he deserved. He had to get out, to leave it all behind. _

_Something he should have done a long time ago._

_And so the next day he checked himself into Ravenscar. _


	4. The Return

Three months had passed since Chas gave up and went home, but not once had he stopped worrying, or feeling guilty for leaving. Not a day went by he didn't wish he'd lingered longer, searched more thoroughly, though he knew it wouldn't have made a difference.

He wished he'd been able to talk John out of the damn trip in the first place. Newcastle was a horrible town. Chas had never liked it there. To make matters worse, the 'Geordie accent', as it was called for some bizarre reason, was nigh incomprehensible – and Chas liked to think he was good with accents after years of talking to Constantine after a few drinks. He just wished he could have changed what had happened. Despite knowing nobody could talk John out of doing whatever he pleased, despite knowing that Astra would still have been possessed, that there was nothing he could have done, Chas kept going over it in his head trying to find a way to save her. To save John.

After the first couple of months Renée had become annoyed by her husband's constant misery and so he had tried, for her sake and also for Geraldine's, to put it to the back of his mind. It was still there though, a nagging feeling that wouldn't go away no matter what Chas did to distract himself. John Constantine was gone, maybe dead, suffering in Hell for all eternity, maybe living and torturing himself in his own personal Hell right now, who knew, and that thought gave Chas no respite. Every time the phone rang his ears pricked up with hope, that just maybe this time _this time _it would be _him_. And when it inevitably was the cable company or the electrician or one of Geraldine's friend's parents, those hopes were dashed once again, only to be lifted the next time. And so the cycle continued, Chas never quite giving up even as he tried to convince himself John was – had to be – dead.

Until the day Geraldine got to the phone first and he heard her cry out in surprise "Uncle John!" closely followed by "My daddy's going to be so mad at you."

It couldn't be. It wasn't. Chas ran into the other room, nearly knocking over one of his wife's vases, where his daughter presented the telephone to him with a smile.

"Now you don't have to worry any more daddy!"

_I'll always have to worry about that stupid bastard. _Chas thought, taking the phone cautiously, unable to believe his friend had returned. Unwilling to believe even he'd be so callous to leave a friend uncertain whether he was alive for so long. It was funny. Sometimes John had fallen out of touch for far longer, yet that had never bothered him so much as this. Newcastle was a definite game changer. Nothing would be the same again.

"John?" his voice cracked with emotion. On the other end he heard a chuckle – godammit he had missed that laugh.

"Alright mate?"

It was him. John fucking Constantine, back from the missing-presumed-dead with all of his usual melodrama. Sudden anger filled Chas – not a word for months and then this, a phonecall as if nothing had ever happened, as if Newcastle never were.

"Where the hell have you been?" Chas hissed, conscious of his wife and daughter in the other room. Oh God, Renée! She would be _beyond_ pissed off. "I thought-"

"Yeah yeah, we don't have time for this now." Chas rolled his eyes. Typical. The minute he was called to answer for his actions, John Constantine suddenly decided there was 'not enough time', as if three months hadn't been long enough. "Listen, Chas, can you meet me at the airport later?"

"Not until you explain-" Chas began, but true to form, John cut him off again.

"Liv's in danger." Everything seemed to go quiet and cold, Chas' irritation falling away. "You and I," the exorcist continued. "We made a promise to Jasper. Meet me, JFK, terminal 7. 10 o'clock. See you." Before Chas could object again, his friend hung up, leaving him glaring at the phone almost wishing John had stayed gone. In his nostalgia, he had forgotten exactly how frustrating Constantine could be. Never mind that Chas had a family, a _life _(technically several); he had to abandon everything because John couldn't tie his shoelaces on his own. At least he'd told him which airport this time. .

"Dammit John." he muttered as he tried to figure out a way to explain things to Renée without her killing him and using up one of his precious lives.

"He disappears for months!" she screamed, when he finally told her. "He leaves you, lets you think he's dead – which I honestly wish he was – and then when you get ONE CALL begging you for help you jump to it, doing exactly what that selfish idiot wants. He's not worth it, Chas, he doesn't deserve your help."

"I'm not doing it for him." Chas said, wondering just how true that was.

_He'd checked out of Ravenscar barely a few hours before, against the good doctors' recommendations. They'd wanted him to talk about the incident with the possessed patient and her interesting art project. How the windows got smashed, for instance. What he had been doing there when he was meant to be in group therapy. A number of other things, but he'd stopped listening after a while and told them he was all better. Didn't believe in demons any more, so would they please let him out? He'd grinned as they remembered they had no legal basis to hold him, since he'd come of his own volition, and he'd winked as they had grudgingly discharged him. _

_The first thing he did after changing back into his ordinary clothing was light one up again. Bastards. During the three months of fun and games behind those walls, the only time he'd been able to smoke was when he managed to get out of sight, occasionally nicking some from the desk of one of the doctors. It was fascist, really, letting the doctors smoke but not the patients. Bloody fascist, that's what it was. Served him right for going private. _

_Calling Chas was second on his list, after booking the soonest flight he could online. He'd wanted to speak to him for so long but hadn't quite known what to say. The only thing that made him pick up the phone in the end was Liv, Liv and the promise they both made to Jasper. When Chas had asked where he'd been, sounding hurt and offended and worried all over again, there was nothing to say except 'no time', though that was only an excuse. If Chas knew about Ravenscar he'd go absolutely apeshit. Wouldn't let him out of his sight._

_There wasn't time for that. Liv was in danger and she was the priority right now._

_John Constantine, on the other hand, didn't really matter at all, other than as a means to keep her safe. _


	5. Conclusion

**Sorry I accidentally posted the wrong chapter here is the real conclusion sorry guys but first some notes and dedications first. This chapter is dedicated to you guys who commented, GabrielaF6 in particular, but also the guests who chose to leave comments I really do appreciate it. This is the final chapter, so thank you guys for staying with me for this and I hope you enjoy this chapter because I'm genuinely scared it's going to be a letdown and also I've put a lot of work into it. It's twice as long as the other chapters which means you have a double-length finale to cry over or whatever. Thanks guys and I hope you like this.**

Waiting outside the airport had fast become way too stressful. Instead, Chas had parked the taxi and gone inside, not that it was much easier there. In fact the crowds of the terminal were even harder to deal with, especially for a man Chas' size. It was just that he couldn't stand waiting outside, waiting around for John Constantine even one minute longer. He checked his watch. Nearly twenty minutes past ten. Where the hell was John?

Chas almost laughed. How many times had he thought that in the last three months? How often had John's whereabouts plagued him late at night? And now he was stood in a crowded airport about to see his closest friend again, if only he could find him through the tourists and the returning business people, the arguing families and the madly-in-love couples. Somewhere there was a man who did not fit this picture. Somewhere nearby, maybe hidden behind someone taller, which could be any number of people, somewhere John was stood, waiting. After months of searching, just when he thought it was over...it was almost ironic. John would have laughed.

"Excuse me sir? You can't smoke in here." Chas heard, from somewhere behind him. Despite himself, he smiled and turned around, knowing there was only one person they could be addressing, for there was only one person so flagrantly oblivious of smoking regulations on the planet, and he wasn't dead. It still hadn't sunk in. John wasn't dead. Though he would be soon enough if he carried on smoking like a chimney, acting like an idiot. God only knew what he had been doing for those three months.

And there he was, permanent cigarette sticking out of his mouth, lighter in hand. Hair and clothing rumpled from the flight, expression that could either be jet lag or simply a sign of the habitual insomniac behaviour he usually displayed. Arguing with the airport staff now, _of course_ he was, because he _had _to be an asshole at every given opportunity, he was practically obligated to by law. Before they could send for security, Chas decided to intervene, walking over and taking his friend by the arm.

"Come on, John." he muttered, dragging him towards the door. The assistant tried to stop them with vague threats to which Chas simply said "I'm really sorry." the assistant snorted and turned away.

As soon as they were outside Chas glared at the exorcist who, naturally, ignored his friend and lit the cigarette, the smell of tobacco hitting Chas immediately. One of John's less savoury habits which even nostalgia glasses did not make any less repulsive. Some things never changed.

"Thanks for that mate." John said, after a few drags, intentionally failing to acknowledge the glare as per usual. He smiled, that grin of his, but it seemed flatter. Less genuine. More like a mask, a mask covering his weaknesses with trademark aggressive sarcasm. He wouldn't let himself have real feelings if he could avoid it, but after a while you learned to see right through the disguise, revealing the vulnerable core concealed beneath trenchcoat and arrogance.

That didn't mean, however, that he got a free pass.

"Three months, John." The smile cracked slightly but did not fade away entirely. "I searched for you."

"I know." something about his friend's tone threw Chas off. "I know you did." Regret? Sorrow? In all the years he had known John for, the man had apologised only enough times to be counted on one hand, and over half of those were insincere anyway. Real remorse, that long, almost yearning look he was giving Chas, now that was something so utterly foreign it drained away the anger. Before John Constantine, exorcist, demonologist and master of the dark arts - or, that is, _petty dabbler_, as John always insisted but never got around to amending on his cards - could say something and fuck it all up in that spectacular way he had, before he managed to piss Chas off again, the big man seized his oldest and closest friend in a tight embrace. At first John tensed, then relaxed, letting himself be hugged without complaint, not even a sarcastic remark about it. Chas could feel tears pricking at his eyes, emotions somewhere between joy and heartbreak, each vying for top spot but both making Chas Chandler want to cry into his friend's coat. He didn't, of course; John would never let him live it down. Definite negative of being immortal.

As they parted, Chas was mildly surprised to see a similar misting in John's own eyes. The smaller man smirked when he saw Chas notice the rare display of emotion, blinking a few times in a vain attempt to save face, then, apparently realising it was a lost cause, reaching up to put a hand on Chas' neck, presumably the closest to his friend's face the vertically challenged man could reach. It was a familiar comfort, accompanied by the best Constantine smile the demonologist could muster given the circumstances of their reunion.

"Thank you Chas. I'll owe you one."

"Damn right you will." Chas laughed as he took John's luggage, carrying it to the taxi where he tossed it into the trunk. The two shared a look and got into the vehicle, John giving vague directions as to where they were going. And Chas realised that, well, he _was _glad John was back. There was nowhere else he would rather have been. Obviously at some point the idiot would do _something_, and it would naturally be as destructive and potentially fatal as possible but right now, things were good.

Of course, there were still some points that needed clearing up.

"Liv." Chas decided it was time to ask after a few minutes driving. "You know she's in danger how, exactly?"

"Jasper possessed some poor sod." Constantine shrugged. "He wasn't particularly chatty but he got the message across."

Chas paused, wondering whether he could even contemplate asking this, then asked anyway. "Where've you been?"

"Does it matter?" the stupid bastard said, not looking up from fiddling with his lighter.

"Like hell it does." Chas wasn't letting him off the hook that easily. Three months of pain - that he had to answer for. "You disappear for three months then turn up with some bullshit story about Liv expecting me to come running after you. Promise or no promise, unless you tell me what's going on, where you've been, I'm not working with you." Pulling over to the side of the road, Chas waited before pressing the matter further. "Choose, John. Your pride or Liv's life." It was a dick move on Chas' part but sometimes, when dealing with an a-hole of the sheer calibre of Constantine, you had to play by his rules. A look of betrayal crossed John's face and Chas immediately regretted pushing further. Just as he thought John was about to blunder off on his own like the stupid bastard he was, the smaller man murmured something almost inaudibly.

Chas blinked. He couldn't - wouldn't believe it. The big secret of the last few months was that?

"Say that again." It was a feat of effort that Chas managed to stop his voice shaking. John looked at him, face deadly serious for once, weariness evident in everything from his posture, slouching into the seat as though he was trying to shrink out of sight; to those hollow eyes which resembled those awful memories of defaced photographs.

"Ravenscar Hospital. 'Psychiatric facility for the mentally deranged'. The loony bin." Everything Chas thought he knew came crashing down around him. The exorcist smirked, that mocking grin he only donned when things got really, really low. "You happy now, Chas?"

There was nothing to be said. Words failed. Chas looked at his friend and recalled the state he had found the apartment in all those months ago. And he knew that it had been much, much worse for John than he had ever guessed, could ever have guessed. John never acknowledged his problems - with his diet, with his drinking, with his chronic chainsmoking, or the nightmares that stopped him from sleeping every night...if even he knew he noticed how bad it had got, well, Chas didn't want to know what _he _classed as serious and what was simply cause for another drink, followed by another and another and at least twelve cigarettes and then another drink. To come to _that..._

Newcastle.

God, he wished he could have stopped it. For Astra's sake, yeah, but also for John. If Newcastle never happened, it would never have come to Ravenscar. _And John wouldn't be damned._

Looking at John, Chas saw through the layer of bitterness and lies, just for a moment before the walls came back up, to the fragile echo of a man he once knew, terrified and alone inside his own head.

_No. Not alone._

He had Chas. For as long as his friend's borrowed lives lasted.

He was not alone.

"_Ravenscar. 'Psychiatric f__acility for the mentally deranged'. The loony bin. You happy now, Chas?" He knew he was pushing his luck now but he couldn't stand the look Chas was giving him, the pity he knew didn't deserve. This was why he didn't want his friend to know. The minute people realised quite how fucked up you were, they tried to be accommodating, to give you hugs and kisses and tell you how much they cared instead of pissing off and finding someone else's loss to feed off. It was all a load of bollocks really, always had been. Everyone used to feel sorry for him because of the bastard he called a father but he had never asked for a pity parade, not now and not then. They just liked to make themselves feel better by being nice, pretending they didn't hate his guts. The thought did cross his mind that maybe Chas didn't hate him, but he dismissed it. He had left the one person who he could trust thinking he was dead for three months. Of course Chas hated him. Sinking deeper into the seat, he prepared for the inevitable lecture._

"_Why? Why didn't you call me?" Chas managed, after some awkward silence, more concerned than anything else._

"_I think we both know the answer to that one, mate." he shook his head and sighed "You didn't deserve any more of my shit."_

"_John that's not a reason. That's an excuse." _

"_Since when did you become a doctor?" he sneered defensively, noting the hurt on Chas' face as he said it, cringing a little at his own voice. Then hurt turned into anger and he decided it would be best to leave before he ruined his friend's life even further. As he reached for the door, he felt Chas grab his arm._

"_Where do you think you're going?"_

_He shrugged. "To find Liv."_

"_On your own?"_

_The condescending tone grated on him. When Chas got overprotective he was really bloody impossible to deal with which was exactly why Ravenscar was supposed to be a secret. But no, he had never really managed to keep anything from Chas, not for long anyway. Part of him knew he should be glad he had backup. The other part wanted to argue for argument's sake, and since he was well-practised at being obnoxious to his friends, he went with the latter option._

"_I'm fine Chas. All better." He laughed "You don't have to mollycoddle me just because I spent the last three months in an asylum."_

"_Not that you'd even know if you were 'fine'." muttered the other man_

"_And what's that supposed to mean?" _

_Chas shrugged. For a moment it looked like he was about to say something, then thought better of it. Then he changed his mind again and said. "Stop it, John. You know damn well what I mean. You're just being a dick for no reason." _Story of my life _the exorcist thought before Chas continued. "You want me to tell you to get lost, leave you here by the side of the road so you can go back to wallowing in your own self-pity, but that's not happening. You are going to get your head out of your ass right now and we - together - will help Liv. Is that understood?"_

_He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. And Chas smiled. _

"_Good." _

_The big man started the taxi again and they went off to find Liv. Chas lapsed back into his valued silence and John himself smiled his first real, wholly genuine smile after Newcastle._


	6. Alternate Version

**A/N: This is an alternate version of how John getting into Ravenscar went. It diverts from the rest of the fic at chapter three. This is a one-off thing and tbh I prefer aspects of it to the original, certainly John's dialogue - he doesn't speak much in the original fic. This is what would have happened if Chas did find John, if the glamour spell didn't work. I wrote this a bit back and considered posting it but discarded it, then went back, edited, and really it's just the original thing but subverted slightly. I hope it's okay for you.**

_He could hear Chas still. The big man hadn't given up and he probably never would. Chas was like that; he wouldn't give up until he had overturned every stone in search of something – someone – long since lost. _

_Pressing himself back into the cupboard, he hoped more than anything he had got the spell right. He was certain he had. Almost certain. Fairly confident. Chas could _not _find him. He knew that much. Everything else was confusing, complicated, probably because his head had started throbbing with the mother of all hangovers and he was struggling to think through the fog in his mind, a fog that kept chanting 'Newcastle, Newcastle, Newcastle'._

_Newcastle._

_Astra._

You deserve this, you stupid bastard. _He thought. _You deserve everything you get for what you did back there in Geordie-land. You-

_He cut off. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to punish himself with that he hadn't already used. Outside, he heard Chas open the curtains. Light crept in through the cracks in the wardrobe. He blinked rapidly, unused to even the dimmest lights after however long it had been trapped in the darkness. Then, the doors of the wardrobe opened, one long shadow blotting out the sun. Thank God for Chas' height, not that God was listening. It did have some advantages after all._

_The moment of truth. Would the glamour spell hold in the face of close inspection?_

_Chas' face fell. "John," he said, choking on his words as he saw through the façade immediately, the pitiful nature of the spell a disastrous consequence of John's inebriation. The bigger man couldn't find the words to speak, so just said his friend's name again, and pulled him from the cupboard. _

_He couldn't take it. _

_The exorcist collapsed into muffled sobs._

"_This can't go on, John. You're destroying yourself."_

_He laughed bitterly, unable to form words. Didn't Chas understand that was the point? That this was what he deserved?_

"_We need to get you help."_

"_P'ssoff, Chs," he mumbled "'m fine. 'm fine."_

John was not fine. John was a filthy, almost malnourished wreck, barely able to stand up straight, let alone speak, his words slurring themselves together. His face was gaunt, haggard, he had aged years in weeks. He couldn't meet Chas' eye, staring instead at a fixed point behind his head, his eyes empty and devoid of soul, devoid of life. Devoid of John Constantine. If Chas hadn't known better, he might have thought he were staring at a corpse, that his friend was gone. And maybe he was. But so far his attempts to speak had largely been obnoxious expletives and various insults, and so Chas could see him in there. A terrified echo of the arrogant demonologist, reduced to a weeping mess because of Newcastle.

Newcastle.

"F'ck d'youwan'? Lv me 'lone, Chs. F'ckoff," the stupid, stubborn blond bastard murmured. His hair was greasy, looking dirtier, darker than usual.

Chas sighed. How did you deal with John like this? Incoherent, exhausted, frightened...there was nothing Chas could really do, not if John wouldn't let him help. Except make sure he had a shower, changed those disgusting shorts and then, and then, _got help. _There was no way John would consent to medical help. He hated those 'self-righteous, silver-spoon gits', as he called them, and he especially hated psychiatrists ('Freudian smeg-ups, wanking off to their own mums'). There was always part of him that was too proud to admit anything was wrong. Even when the evidence was laid out before him, in the whiskey on the floor and the god-only-knew what on the bed.

"Shower. Now," Chas snapped, pushing his friend into the bathroom and leaving him to sort himself out. He needed that. That final shred of his ridiculous ego, the last fragment of independence. A few muttered curses (of the magical, rather than profane variety) came from behind the door, but they were half-finished, half-fluent, half-complete. Like John. Half-complete.

In the meantime, Chas cleared up some of the bottles and stripped the bed, deciding the sheets and the mattress were too far gone and should be thrown out. He searched the closets and drawers for clean clothing which he set out outside the bathroom and went into the living room to wait, picking up the photographs and putting them in a pile to go. As he filtered through them he found one, of a little girl with dark skin, and tight black curls. Astra. He set that one aside. John, even in the state he was in right now, would remember. John would never forgive him.

The sound of water stopped, and Chas heard the slight creak of a door opening, then closing again. Silence. A moment or two passed, and the door opened again, and John's footsteps slowly approached. Chas feigned interest in his cellphone, pretending a message had come through that he had to read, so that when John entered the room, wearing his usual shirt and black trousers and looking like a poor imitation of himself, he wasn't threatened by seemingly hostile stares. Without speaking, John moved to the seat next to his friend and sat down. The bigger man waited. He wasn't going to press for speech. If John could manage it, if he even wanted to talk, Chas would wait it out.

"So. Looks like my glamour spell was shite," John said, his voice hoarse and disused. But more coherent. The shower had sobered him up "You saw right through my cunning plan." He tried to smirk. The joke fell flat. "Chas?"

Chas swallowed "For fuck's sake, John, why didn't you call me?"

John blinked, taken aback, and looked away. "Didn't want to drag you into any more of my shit. You didn't deserve it."

"John, that's not a reason, it's an excuse." Chas insisted, concerned beyond belief.

"Since when did you become a doctor?" sneered John, bitter hatred dripping from his words "Just fuck off, Chas. I can deal with my own problems."

"Oh, of course you can. So what's this then? Go on John, I'm intrigued. I want to know what the hell you were thinking."

"What was I thinking?" John looked Chas in the eye, an expression of pure hatred on his face "What was I thinking? I was thinking there's a little girl dead and suffering in hell because of me, because_ I _damned her. I treated it like a game, Chas. Her death was my fault and I've got that on my soul which means I've got an appearance in Hell scheduled sometime soon." Chas put a hand out to touch his friend's shoulder, but John shook him off furiously "I don't want your pity. You can go fuck yourself, Chas. I don't want you mothering me and fussing, and pretending you care when really you just feel sorry for little old me. Find someone who deserves your sympathy, Chas. Someone better than me."

John stood up angrily and walked to the door. His friend followed, grabbing his arm, only for John to pull away again.

"Please, John," Chas said desperately "You need to get help."

"What do you suggest?" snapped John "Loony bin? I don't want to, Chas," And now he seemed scared again "I don't- I don't want to. I've got a reputation. And I'm alright now." he fished through his pockets and then swore "Bollocks! I'm out of cigs. D'you mind picking some up for me, mate, if you really want to be a help, like?" he smiled innocently, but Chas wasn't taken in.

"John."

"What?"

"Get in the car." Chas jerked his thumb at the door "I won't put up with this. Where does your sister live?"

John snorted "No chance. Her husband hates me."

"Why am I not surprised?" Chas muttered "Fine. If not your sister's place, then where?"

John sighed and looked at the floor, embarrassed. "There's...there's a place not far from here. Ravenscar 'Psychiatric Facility for the Mentally Deranged'. Sounds like my kind of BnB, don't you think? You can drop me off there. But you'll owe me."

"Why will _I _owe _you_? Aren't I the one doing you the favour?"

At this John laughed, almost genuinely but no, not quite. "I'm going into a psych ward because you told me to, Chas. I'm going to have put up with doctors telling me what to do. You're definitely the one who owes me on this one."

Despite himself, Chas smiled. Because there is was, the sign. Everything was going to be okay, eventually, there was still someone in there behind those traumatised eyes. And even if John was never the same as before, he at least had learned something.

He had learned he was not capable of everything.

It was a shame he'd had to learn it at Newcastle.


End file.
